


A Thief's Tune

by Yuni30



Series: Nymph Hugs [3]
Category: Ni no Kuni
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hidden Talents, Inspired by Coco, Inspired by Music, Past Lives, Secrets, Talent, memento - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-03-30 18:35:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13957539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuni30/pseuds/Yuni30
Summary: Swaine never considered himself a renaissance man. He was an inventor and a thief above most things, he thought. Old habits, even those long forgotten, die hard.(This work's chapters can also be found as drabble chapters for "Nymph Hugs" over on Fanfiction.net along with its sibling works.)





	1. A Secret Talent

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Like A Brother](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/363345) by Wherever Girl. 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter 2 of "[Nymph Hugs](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12846640/1/Nymph-Hugs)".)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some liberties with Swaine's backstory here. Especially what led him to start thieving in general. The high and mighty attitude of Gascon kind of clashed with how corrupt Swaine was when we first meet him. I mean, yeah, he had a broken heart, but something had to happen to make Gascon resort to a life of crime. While, yes, it could be entirely Shadar's doing that caused such a shift, I doubt that. He built a freaking gun to steal things. Say that didn't work right the first couple of tries- you'd have to have no restraint to just throw in the towel on the project. I'm thinking our buddy Swaine, there caught the Cowlipha's lack of restraint.
> 
> As usual, expect spoilers.
> 
> Please, leave a review. I'd very much appreciate it. Keep it civil if you do submit one.
> 
> Disclaimer: I love this game. I bought the disk for it at a video game store. Had all the packaging and everything. Hey, these fics are free advertising and not in any way changing the actual content of the game. Why would I own the rights to it, again?

Oliver had just finished talking to the curry merchant, telling tales of their journey and buying a healthy stock of curry for the road. He bid his cooking shopkeeper friend farewell and walked off. He was about to head off to the inn when a sound he hadn't heard in the plaza wafted his way.

It sounded like a string instrument being played behind the opposite milk fountain. A man was singing along with the tune. The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it.

The young wizard, intrigued, approached the fountain carefully, stopping to listen before he turned the corner. The tune reminded him of a sea shanty, or at least that's what he heard what sailors sang:

_"From the land of machines, I must go,_

_To taste cool milk so sweet,_

_The feeling of soft grass, I should know,_

_To bask in that Summerland heat!_

_From the confines of many a steel spire:_

_Running free in the wild,_

_Castaway Cove is where I'll retire._

_Life will be carefree-"_

"Swaine," a bewildered shout interrupted, the rhythm broken, the tune halted. An off-key note played in shock. There were a few curious onlookers, clearly not yet fully invested in the tune, leaving the scene.

Swaine sat, leaning against the milk fountain on the ground holding what looked like a lute with a golden wooden finish that faded into a chestnut brown at the edges where what looked like ancient golden creatures formed the border. He looked surprised to see him, an almost guilty look plastered on his face. It wasn't like he hadn't bought his share of what they needed- the rugged sack he used to carry supplies was sitting next to him.

"You can sing…," Oliver began, still shocked at this discovery. "…and play guitar?"

"Oh, I..." The thief put the instrument down. "I was just holding onto it for someone," he fibbed. Truth was, he didn't become a thief without having secret areas in Al Mamoon and Castaway Cove to hide his ill-gotten gain- through the instrument was anything but stolen.

The boy wasn't buying it. He had his hands on his hips, looking down at his older friend and a suspicious expression. "Uh-huh," Oliver said disbelievingly, a cheeky smile on his face. "So, where'd you get it?"

"I didn't steal it, if that's what you're thinking," the guilty man snapped, glaring at the young wizard. Swaine held the instrument closer to his person, gripping the neck and body of it.

The thief's young friend stepped back suddenly, shaking his head. "No, no, no. Of course not. But… Did someone really give it to you to hold?" Oliver's curiosity was getting the best of him. To the man in question, it appeared he wouldn't let it go.

Sighing and relaxing his body a bit, he gave in. He seemed to halfheartedly shake his head, eventually looking back at the wizard. "Okay, fine…," he reluctantly groaned. "First of all, it's called a mandolin. It's one of the few things I took with me when I left Hamelin…" He didn't want to admit it, but he had snuck it in Oliver's bag as Gascon for safe keeping when they went to find Mornstar; and, as a prince, he intended to leave with it, hoping the instrument would give him some solace in his fight for survival.

"Neato," the wizard shouted eagerly. "Did you use to play it before you left?"

Swaine's annoyed expression slightly shifted to confusion. Was the boy really that interested in his secret musical talent? He shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment. He then turned his head to look at the far wall of the courtyard, thinking about his next response.

"I… Used to play a little." A sad look graced the thief's face, missing days long gone. "Marcassin loved hearing me play when we took breaks from practice," he admitted. A sad chuckle escaped him, and he shook his head.

Oliver seemed lost in thought, his hand on his chin. "You could have played for money or food instead of stealing," the boy suggested, though there wasn't much use to it.

Swaine scoffed, catching himself absentmindedly stroking the strings of the mandolin. "Don't think I didn't try that, do you?" He looked incredulously at his young friend. "It worked the first few months. People gave me babanas, a few bottles of milk, some sandwiches, and even a few guilders. I thought I could make it like that…" He trailed off.

"The news came of my father's death." He frowned, holding the instrument closer to his body again, this time for comfort. "I didn't know what to make of it. My music faltered that day and the day after that. Eventually, I was out of food and money. That's when I decided to steal for the first time." A few stray notes pierced the air as Swaine picked at the instrument. "The Pickpocket's Pistol was created for that first heist," he mumbled, almost to himself.

Oliver, still listening to his older friend, was beside himself. Because of how the thief reacted, the wizard was sure that he hadn't really admitted any of this to anyone else. He felt sorry for his friend and how he had to thieve to survive despite being so talented. The boy noticed how hard Swaine was clutching the mandolin, how he almost seemed to be hugging the instrument- almost as if he were scared it would disappear.

It was like how he used to hold onto Drippy as a doll, he realized. "Was it a gift from your father," Oliver mustered up the courage to ask. When he didn't receive an answer, he simply sat down next to the man, looking up at him.

The thief finally nodded in response to Oliver's question. The mandolin was a gift from the former Emperor of Hamelin, but not from Hamelin itself- a town to the west, atop the valley where Autumnia got its name.

He picked at the instrument, trying to fashion some sort of melody and distractedly hum to himself. The former prince mentally kicked himself for not picking it up from his hiding spot sooner. They had been back to Al Mamoon numerous times, but each time he had been caught up in whatever decision the team was making- usually assuring himself each time that he'd pick it up again. If only his playing didn't falter… if only Shadar hadn't ended his father's life.

"You've got a good melody going there," Oliver complimented, snapping Swaine out of his thoughts and halting his playing once more. "Why'd you stop," the young wizard complained, eager to hear more.

"Hah! Impressed, are you? I wasn't even focusing on playing." He cast a smile down at his young friend and strummed a few chords. "Surprised that fairy and Esther haven't found us yet. They'd have to hear all the off-key racket I'm making," Swaine said, getting up, holding his beloved mandolin in one hand by the neck.

"They probably stopped to talk to Rashaad," Oliver answered. "And what do you mean, 'off-key'? You sounded like a pro," came another compliment from the wizard.

"You can stop trying to cheer me up, Oliver. That wasn't even my best." The older man stomped his foot, looking at the ground. "I'm obviously way out of practice. Couldn't even convince that crowd of onlookers there to give me anything. Then again…" He glanced to the side with a disapproving look. "What did I expect? Who would ever give money to a performing thief?"

The truth was, the young wizard wasn't trying to cheer him up. He really meant it: Swaine was excellent, even if he hadn't played in a while. Looking down at his feet, the young wizard realized that his friend would constantly deny his compliment. "Then you've got to practice," he encouraged. "Then you'll sound even better!"

Swaine shot the boy a glare. "Not a chance." It suddenly dawned on him. "I can't take this with me. Travelling with it would damage it or worse off: it could get stolen." It pained him to say it, but he knew it was true.

"I never leave my bag anywhere! I always have it," Oliver suggested. "You could play when we're taking breaks!"

"Oliver…" The thief looked down at the wizard, frowning once more. He was well aware that Oliver's bag could protect it from harm, but he'd rather not take his chances. While it was true the bottomless pit never strayed far from the group, he worried one night it would disappear. "…thank you, but no. I'll deposit it in a Cat's Cradle safe for safe keeping. I'm lucky the damn thing didn't get stolen in the first place." The thief kicked a small sand pile that had built up.

"Besides, it would distract me more than anything," the thief sighed, carefully placing it in the case propped up on the burlap bag he used to gather supplies, picking the case up, and slinging the strap on his shoulder. He picked up the supplies and started for the inn. Before heading down the street, Swaine paused and looked back at Oliver, who was still sitting against the fountain.

"I need a favor," the thief began. "When we come back here- and I know we will- keep the other two busy for me so I can practice?"

The boy turned his head to acknowledge his friend. "Sure." Oliver nodded, smiling.

Another thing seemed to bother him. "And… Promise to keep this between us, will you? I already get enough grief from Esther and Drippy as it is." He began to walk off.

"You've got it, Swaine," the young wizard agreed, respecting the older man's need for privacy and happy to have helped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oi! Guess who saw "Coco"! I was inspired by one of the characters to write this. Spoilers for those who haven't seen it, but Hector reminded me of Swaine: He's rough around the edges, he's tried to play the system to get to someone he cares about, he has creative talent, he has fallen from grace, and has had a pretty bad hand dealt to him. Like Swaine, the moment I saw him I wanted to hug him because… well, he looked like he needed one.
> 
> This is partly also based on a theory out there that Swaine, Marcassin, and Oliver might be related, but I didn't make it apparent here.
> 
> The song lyrics are actually my own I specifically came up with for this fic. If you're looking for a solid reference on how it would sound, think of a sea shanty or Billy Joel's Piano Man for a close approximation.


	2. A Thief's Tune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music is best enjoyed when its played with good company.
> 
> (Chapter 4 of "[Nymph Hugs](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12846640/1/Nymph-Hugs)".)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to make this short cause I wrote a very long one this time. I was trying to make a light-hearted one because some my recent stuff felt rather depressing. Also, Swaine needs to have fun every once in a while. Fewer lyrics are used here and more interaction between people while music, if any, is being performed.
> 
> Anywho. On with the show!
> 
> Disclaimer: I meant it when I said I'd make it short. I mean it when I say I don't own the rights to this game. It's fun to write about though.

Supplies were needed before they could continue their assault on the Ivory Tower. It had taken them a day to get through half of it, but their provisions had begun to dwindle. They thought it best to leave and come back when they had stockpiled plenty of health potions, food, coffee, and water.

Granted, what did they expect when there were six of them now? The young wizard, Oliver, had cast vacate and they rode Tengri, their dragon friend, down to Al Mamoon. Curry was always a fan favorite of theirs, especially to one of the newest members of their force who- despite the lack of black truffles- claimed he could eat it all day if he wanted to. Pea was no exception, she found the curry as equally pleasing as the prince did.

That member, Marcassin, was also the same one that insisted on staying at an inn this time. While he didn't openly complain, he felt that the Iron Wyvern's deck wasn't exactly comfortable. Once all the room arrangements were squared away, he, Esther, Pea, and Drippy went out for supplies leaving Swaine and Oliver to unpack anything they needed for the night.

At least, that's what the thief wanted them to believe. See, he and Oliver had an… arrangement. It was one they had made earlier in their journey. He harbored a secret he didn't want the girl or the fairy to know or he'd never hear the end of it.

That wasn't the only issue, though: he didn't have the money to pay for the safety deposit box at the inn for keeping his precious instrument. He had waited for the innkeeper to leave or be distracted by something, keeping his Highwayman's Handgun at the ready. He peered around the corner, eyeing the safe.

"What are you doing," came a sudden, curious question from an all too familiar source. The thief jumped and turned around to see the young wizard.

"I… ah…," he tried to find a good line for this situation, but his silver tongue was tarnished by context. His slouch worsened as his head drooped. He put his weapon in its custom-made holster on his belt. "I don't have the money. I wanted to practice using my instrument," he admitted, making a jabbing motion with his thumb back at the front desk.

"Your guitar," the boy asked, putting his hand on his chin, thinking about the situation.

"'Mandolin'," Swaine corrected, his head still low, guilt evident in his voice.

Oliver's eyes grew wide in shock. "So, you were trying to steal it back?" He received a shameful nod from his friend.

"You could have just asked," the wizard reminded him. The man raised his head, his posture straightening a little, a grateful look on his face.

"Thank you," he responded happily. His smile faded slightly. "…And sorry- about what I was about to do. Wasn't very honest of me."

"It's alright," the boy chuckled. He went around Swaine to talk to the innkeeper. She nodded as she listened to him, accepting his cash, and taking the instrument's case out of the safe. Oliver returned holding the large wooden case awkwardly.

The thief held his hands out to take the cumbersome object off his young friend's hands. The kid wouldn't hand it over, even if he was struggling to hold onto it. "Hold on, what's the catch? Oliver, give me my mandolin." He tapped his foot impatiently, crossing his arms.

"First… oof…" He had to adjust how he was holding the case. "You have to promise you'll never go back to stealing from people ever again- only beasts," the ginger-headed wizard demanded, peering over the side of the mandolin case.

Swaine sighed and rolled his eyes, reluctantly. "I promise- wait, you _are_ aware I haven't pinched anything off anyone in a while, right? I haven't since you cured my lack of restraint!" He let his arms drop and pointed accusingly at the boy as he said this, eager to get his hands on his prized instrument once more.

Oliver looked down in thought, readjusting his grip on the case again. "Huh… But still… I want you to promise, Swaine. Never again." The kid nodded adamantly, despite clinging to a large object. "The world will be better for it."

The thief finally gave in and promised, a confident smile on his face. He held out his arms expectantly.

"Do you swear on it," the boy asked, eyeing the thief cautiously.

He threw up his hands irritably. "For the love of- Yes! I swear on my great-great grandfather's grave that I'll never- _ever_ \- steal from a single human or human-like soul again!" He made grand gestures and stomped his feet in frustration. "Now hand over Lucy or-!" He stopped dead in his tracks, realizing his vocal blunder. He glowered at the young wizard when he heard a snicker.

He snatched the case out of the giggling boy's arms. "Tell anyone, and my ancestors won't be the only thing I'll be swearing on," he threatened, still scowling at Oliver.

Oliver finally stopped, but still beamed at his thieving friend. "I won't. But still… 'Lucy'?"

By this time, Swaine was rushing to open the case that now lay on the floor, pulling out Lucy, the mandolin, ignoring the question- after all, it was just a silly name he came up with as a kid. He strummed a few chords, beginning to put together a tune when a thought occurred to him. He slid the strap hoisting his instrument off his person, grabbing the neck. He handed the instrument to the young boy he'd grown close to over the course of their journey.

Oliver stepped back in surprise. "Huh?" He looked up to his friend. He shook his head, not wanting to take the instrument. "I can't. What if I break it?"

Swaine smirked and pushed the instrument into the kid's hands. "Not if you learn how, kid." He had his young friend loop the strap over himself and showed him how to hold the instrument. "A little more like this," the thief said, gently adjusting Oliver's arms.

"Okay, but I've never played it before. What do I do," the boy asked, his fingers rubbing the copper metal wires- wires he theorized the thief had put in to replace the ones originally from Perdida. He remembered seeing his friend play a little, but it was idle fidgeting for the most part.

Swaine rolled his eyes. "Hey, just because I play it, doesn't mean I know everything about what notes go where." He gestured to the mandolin, a smile on the corner of his mouth. "Just start playing. A melody will come to you."

"But… you use to play as a ki-."

The thief sighed, cutting him off, and looking away. "I was never taught. It wasn't like I had a choice. Marcassin needed help with magic and that took priority over learning all the minutia of music, alright?" He looked down at the mandolin, a regretful look in his eye. "I learned by playing what I heard…" Swaine shook his head, pushing away useless hindsight, refocusing back on giving his friend a chance to play his beloved instrument.

He patted Oliver on the shoulder, a reassuring smile on his face. "Now let's hear what the mighty 'Pure-Hearted' One's got, eh?"

Oliver attempted to play, but the tune seemed a bit off-key. He cringed and so did Swaine, causing the wizard to chuckle at the face the thief made at every jarring note.

"Fine. I can't give you the exact notes, but I can teach you what to look for in sound," the man admitted, having covered his ears at this point. The next few minutes involved Swaine humming and Oliver repeating what he heard on Lucy.

Eventually, Oliver found himself, without his friend's guidance, putting together a decent melody.

"Decent sound you've got there," the former prince complimented. The wizard nodded. An idea struck him, and his normally ever tired eyes widened followed by an incorrigible grin. He had been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, listening, but now he half leaped to his feet, standing in front of Oliver. "Hey, how about we give this old inn a performance! You could play Lucy and I'll provide the beat," Swaine proposed enthusiastically.

Oliver flinched. "I only just started learning how to play," he argued nervously.

"And you've never faced against a several-thousand-year-old witch with the power to end the world, yet here we are," the man reminded him.

The wizard nodded, knowing he wasn't wrong there. He agreed and pulled the journal he had been using to keep track of missions and events, handing it to Swaine to use as a make-shift percussion instrument. The man rushed ahead of him into the lobby, pausing to look back.

"Got cold feet, do you," he goaded, jokingly.

Oliver shook his head. "No, it's just that… I've never performed before."

Swaine walked back and grabbed the kid by the arm, pulling him into the lobby. "C'mon. It's not like you're going to be alone. No running. Give it your all," the suddenly energetic thief encouraged.

The boy nodded and began playing the melody he had started before. Before long, the two were singing a song about the highlights of the group's travels, keeping it concise but catchy. Oliver realized the song was like a show-tune from professional plays put on in Motorville his mom used to take him to.

Neither of them was the main singer: they switched roles throughout the song. After the third chorus came what Oliver called the "drum solo"- or, in reality, Swaine giving a catchy rhythm by tapping his shoes and hitting the book against his palm, all the while grinning and chuckling at the end. Oliver's playing kicked in again and the two wrapped up the song.

 _"Saving the world with you at my side,"_ they both concluded, both smiling in glee from the spontaneous musical number and leaning into each other. Oliver added a final set of notes, closing the tune. The two started to laugh from the left-over thrill, Oliver gripping the instrument and Swaine doubled over, holding the journal to his stomach.

"You're a real natural, Oliver," his friend said between fits of laughter. Oliver had it worse, so he could only nod, the giggling seemingly never ceasing.

~*~*~

The five were returning to the inn. Music could be heard from inside. They all stopped and exchanged confused glances.

"Those voices…," Esther began, eyeing the inn curiously. "They sound familiar."

Marcassin heard an instrument he hadn't encountered in years. "Is that… A mandolin," he asked, not expecting an answer.

"Sounds like a right ol' party, en't it? A real music fest goin' on in there, mun," the fairy observed jumping up and down. "Don't s'pose it's some sort of rampagin' beastie that somehow broke in, do ya?"

Marcassin and Esther gave him an incredulous look. "What makes you think it's a beast? That's the most well put together musical noise I've heard a beast make if it is one," the ruler argued.

"And wouldn't the walls of the Cat's Cradle be shaking if the other two were fighting," the familiar tamer noted.

The fairy stopped jumping and crossed his arms. "Fine, then it's a very tidy beast that can mimic voices," he grumbled, refusing to let his idea go.

"No, it's Oliver and the green guy's music," Pea answered.

The group looked over at Pea. "…The green guy," the young ruler of Hamelin questioned, drawing up a few ideas on what she meant.

"You know, the guy with the silly gun."

"Gascon," Marcassin asked, flinching. Before he got an answer, he rushed towards the inn, the courtyard now silent, the tune ended.

~*~*~

The inn doors flew open and the two looked up, having just recovered from their laughing fits. They saw Swaine's younger brother standing in the entrance, the group catching up behind him.

The shorter of the brothers eyed the instrument Oliver was holding and shifted his gaze immediately to the taller one. "What's… going on," Marcassin asked, confused.

Oliver froze and looked over to the thief who seemed beside himself at the moment. He then rubbed the back of his neck, looked at the ground, and smiled sheepishly. "I was… teaching Oliver how to play the mandolin," the thief admitted. "Damn," Swaine cursed quietly, remembering Pea's presence. "Guess that's one secret gone."

"Flippin' heck, mun," Drippy shouted. "Another flippin' musician in the group is it? Never pegged ol' thief-face to be fancy delicate art-"

Marcassin turned swiftly to the fairy. "Drippy," he shouted, for once commanding the loudmouth Lord High Lord of the Fairies to silence himself. The ruler turned back to his brother and his friend, smiling at them. "Good to see that your talent didn't go to waste, brother. But tell me this: why did you keep it from your friends," he asked, observing the shocked expression on Esther's and Drippy's faces.

The thief was caught red-handed. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head and looking back up at his brother and the other three. "I didn't want you lot getting any more false ideas about me, what with my past and all. I'm not as worried about it now since Marcassin can vouch for my ownership of Lucy-"

"'Lucy'? Who the flippin' heck is that? The innkeeper? C'mon, mun… Me own mam could come up with better." The fairy first glared at Swaine but was treated with irritated looks from the others. His mouth opened eyes widened but the over-exalted Drippy stayed quiet.

The former prince was the most irritable. He pointed to the fairy angrily. "That. That's another reason. As much as I love playing that instrument, I'd never hear the end of it."

"Well," Esther began, smiling, her hands behind her back. "I think it's sweet. It's good to have more than one hobby. Plus, Oliver sounded good, so you must be a good teacher."

Swaine was taken aback, a pang of guilt striking his stomach for misjudging the girl. Oliver stepped forward, handing Lucy over to Swaine, trading him with the journal. "Yeah, he's great! With his help, we performed a whole song together," touted the young wizard.

Marcassin laughed, placing his arm around his older brother, pulling him into an awkward side hug. He looked over at the young wizard, grinning. "You think that was great, you should hear him play my favorite, 'The Hyper Boar Circus'!"

"That's a real classic," the thief admitted, smiling.

The little green haired girl skipped up to the two brothers, giggling. "Play! Play! Play!"

The older man looked down at his brother with an uncertain look. The young ruler nodded and let go of his brother.

Pea swayed from side to side, pulling on the hem of her dress. "Play the pretty music, Mr. Green Man, please," she begged eagerly.

"Alright, alright, keep your hair on," Swaine eased, already primed to play his instrument. "The Hyper Boar Circus," he said before strumming out the first few notes of the song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the end of the chapter. Sorry for the length. Been planning this one out for a bit. I really wished the game would develop the relationships between the main party just a little more.
> 
> I'm still going with the idea that Swaine didn't start off as a thief but actually tried something that wasn't common criminal behavior. Like I said, Gascon's a high and mighty kind of guy when you first meet him as a kid. Somehow, he doesn't strike me as the kind of person who'd try and take the easy way out first, despite his later version's pension for being a scaredy-cat.
> 
> Oh, and that talent show scene in Coco inspired me.
> 
> Anyway, please review. I'd like one review. One. Someone. Please. Tell me what you think. I need to know if I'm doing well or if I'm completely botching this.


	3. Nature's Melodies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter 18 of "[Nymph Hugs](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12846640/1/Nymph-Hugs)".)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing about the mandolin again! While I don't have any specific music suggestions, I do have some sources of inspiration (See the end of the fic). I don't think you'll need any accompaniment, though. It's not really about the music… it's about emotion.
> 
> Anyway, I know it's short, but I still hope it's just as good as any of my other pieces. I enjoyed writing this and I hope you do, too. Enjoy.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I do own a love for music, though. And obscure string instruments, apparently.

The sun began to rise over the continent of Autumnia. The deep blue of twilight would soon give way to the orange and pink of the morning sky. As the group camped further down the hill of a cliff, a lone, lanky form hiked up to the edge, a musical instrument on hand. He reached the top of the incline and took a moment to take in the sight of the coast, to breath in the fresh air of the sea, and to feel the strong winds found at only that height brush by him, his green coat helpless to their current.

If there was any time to play, to translate any and all stress he had thus far into something constructive, it was now. He had decided to bring the instrument with him, this time. It gave him another outlet besides tinkering with his guns when they set up camp. They had taken yet another break from fighting through the Ivory Tower after a couple of near-death experiences. This time, they decided to explore the area outside of Hamelin and get some much-needed training hunting bounties. At this point, he and everyone else was frustrated with the whole ordeal of getting to the top _without_ nearly dying.

Everyone had their ways of coping with it- this was one of his. As another gust of wind blew past him, he readied his mandolin, taking a moment to tune it after letting it sit so long. He exhaled heavily as he strummed the first anguished notes.

There wasn't a rhythm, there wasn't even a song he was aiming for. Every note was an argument, a complaint, a yell of distress. He didn't pay attention to the melody. He didn't care. He just let whatever issue he had, whatever negative emotion out onto the strings of the instrument.

To the listener, if there were any, the tune sounded disjointed, yet, paradoxically, melodious. It sounded like a fight, like two people shouting at each other. It sounded like someone trying to summon a great beast with little success. It sounded like that very creature, injured and miserable, tragically wailing in pain.

He sighed and hunched a little more than usual as he expended the last of his negative energy. He gasped for air as if he had just finished a fight, catching his breath and recomposing himself. It may have done nothing to null the cause of his stress, but it proved an effective way to purge his pent-up frustration.

He wasn't satisfied with his playing. He recalled what he had just put to sound and abhorred it. He felt sorry for his poor mandolin, having to endure such an awful performance. He felt even worse when he recalled that he was the one who played it. He had to fix this…

He looked out at the sea again, the orange light of the sun just beginning to show greeting the former prince. He smiled as the cool wind began to shift in temperature. With it, he found the energy to take up the instrument once more- to give himself a good enthusiastic jolt of positive energy.

With another breath, more relaxed, more aware of his actions, he began to play again. The power he had fed into the butchered tune before was there. Its source had changed from the rogue's internal frustration to the inspiration and awe he felt admiring the beauty of the morning scenery. When the wind brushed by, he fed the feeling into the tune. He imbued the sound with the warmth he started to feel from the morning sun.

The clanging of creatures below amused him and the music took on a light playful tone for a moment. Then the sky shifted color, the sea glowing as the first spark of the day began to glimmer over its surface. He thought of the insane notion that somehow, he had the power to decide whether the day should start. Let it, he thought, and with a series of powerful strokes, he encouraged the new day to begin, summoning the sun, guiding it into the sky with each note. He laughed at the madness of it, shaking his head as he continued to play.

For balance, the sad, neglected structures around him allowed him to shift to a softer more heartfelt score. The melancholy feel of the tune now contrasted with the strong emphasis of calling forth the sun drastically. His music was aimless but ambitious, just like before. Just like him.

His coat flew back from a particularly strong gust of air, and he imagined how grand he would have looked if he had bothered to get newer clothes, or even just a newer coat. With a grin, he allowed that into the tune as well, the soft sad notes of before suddenly being replaced by energetic grandiose harmonies that followed the pattern of the wind.

When he felt the urge to complete the seemingly endless piece, he looked at the ocean again and its deceptive calmness. He watched the waves roll in and decided to end it the same way they moved, ebbing back and forth, strong then gentle until he stopped altogether. He had felt each note in his soul. He had translated the sublime beauty of what was around him into sound. With each chord, he felt more at peace with himself.

He smirked at the orange and pink sunrise, the sun now in full view in the distance. He took the mandolin and looped it back over his shoulder as he took in the scenery once more. He looked down at the instrument again, happy to have brought it along. He let out a content breath and decided to sit down and listen to the ocean, to the mechanical creatures that inhabited the area, to nature's own endless melody.

He had accomplished regaining a sense of balance, a sense of tranquility. Everything was right again.

He'd head back down to rejoin the others soon. For now, this was all he needed: the sound of nature, the peacefulness of it all. Just a moment to relax alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so as I said, this is inspired by some songs- the main culprit being _Play Me Like a Violin_ by Stephen (The more chaotic parts are inspired by the instrumental part of the song), _Hollow_ by Jome, and _Restless Sea_ by Louis Futon ft. Opia. The part where Swaine imagines himself kickstarting the day and summoning the sun? That's inspired partly by the movie _Rock-a-Doodle_ of all things.
> 
> All in all, this is supposed to be a drabble of pure emotion being worked out through something enjoyable and wordless, which is why Swaine doesn't say anything in this. I hope you all liked it.
> 
> If you have any thoughts, say them! I hope this was a welcome experience (and experiment).


	4. Tone Deaf Thief

He sat strumming away at his mandolin, idly churning out an aimless tune. The others sat around the campfire, each doing their own mindless task, each enjoying the melodies that emanated from the thief and his instrument.

Oliver was reading the tale about the very first Clarion- created by four brothers to return peace to the world. He recalled the completion of the flute, the banter that ensued after. They were all so excited to finally move forward in the effort to defeat Shadar. Every remark seemed so quickly passed over in his memory as they all were consumed in awe of both what they had just witnessed and their newfound capacity to save the world.

Everyone had come together to complete it. The entire world- well the rulers from all the countries as well as their own former royal of a companion had helped bring it together. They had seen the recreation of a powerful magical artifact. They had seen the bond of two brothers reform in the effort. Both of which brought incorrigible grins to everyone's faces.

Now, as the boy read the book, he thought back to what everyone had said earlier, banter and all… _"I'd love to play it, but I'm tone deaf,"_ one line of dialogue struck him. He sat up suddenly. With it, the thief's music stopped. _"…I'm tone deaf,"_ he replayed in his mind. He blinked in confusion as he looked down at the ground in thought. How? How could he play so well? He shouldn't have been able to play his beloved mandolin at all…

He turned and looked in bewilderment at the ever-observant Swaine. He looked down at the mandolin, the same mandolin that had been so beautifully played just moments before he came to the realization.

"Oliver," he asked, leaning over the instrument in his hands. He raised a quizzical eyebrow. "What is it?"

"Swaine… You're tone deaf," he pointed out. He turned his body to fully face the jacket-clad man. "You- you shouldn't be able to sing…" He gestured towards the string instrument. "Or play the mandolin."

Esther looked up from tuning her own instrument. "He has a point, Swaine." She tilted her head. "It _is_ kind of weird."

"Oi! What's the trick, mun," the fairy piped up. "You're trying to pull a fast one on us, are ya?" He stamped a tiny leg towards the thief in question and raised an equally tiny fist.

The man stared wide-eyed at the three. He hadn't quite expected them to remember that little comment. He felt himself smirking then he began to laugh.

The two kids and a fairy exchanged confused glances. What was so funny…?

"You lot really think- after all this time- I wouldn't have a hope in hell at this?! You must be joking." He leaned forward with a cocky grin. "I've learned to compensate," he admitted. He let loose a few stray giggles. "You seem to forget- I've been playing this thing since Marcassin was small." He raised the mandolin by the neck. "And learned to sing along with it."

"So wait…," the girl began. "Is it the only instrument you learned how to play?"

"Yep. The only one I can sing with, too. I can't play anything else- I'd sound awful." He shook his head as he placed the mandolin down in his lap.

"So, you really can't hear the notes," Oliver exclaimed, amazed. "But…," he started again. "You must have sounded pretty bad as a kid, then."

"Well, everyone sounds bad when they start," Esther replied. "I probably sounded worse than Swaine."

The thief leaned back in shock. "Oh? Humility," he jested, smirking as he received a well-deserved glare from Esther. He shook his head. "I wasn't always tone deaf. I kind of lost it as I got older." He held out a hand. "Let's just say using a pickpocketing gun has its flaws." He shrugged. "But it hasn't stopped me from playing her." He picked back up the instrument and strummed a few chords. "And I wouldn't play anything else." He sighed and cast a warm smile down at the mandolin. "…of all the notes- these are the only ones I can still properly hear."

"Why'd you stop playing, then," a voice from behind him asked.

The thief jumped and a strangled note pierced the air. He turned to find his brother staring down at him. Swaine lowered his gaze to avoid his younger brother's. "I just… couldn't."

Marcassin sat next to him as Pea, who had gone with him to explore the surrounding forest, sat next to Oliver. "Brother. Was it because of father?"

The others remained silent as they watched the two of them intently- all except Pea who fiddled with some blades of grass.

Swaine cleared his throat. "Yeah," he choked out, gripping the mandolin tighter. "Father… He gave me this instrument before you were born. I remember sneaking off to where the royal musicians would practice and listening to their pieces." He shrugged. "It was the only other thing besides tinkering I could escape to." He looked over at the sage with a fond smile. "Well… that is until you came around."

"Hah! I remember! You used to get us in so much trouble, Gascon," the younger prince cheered. His smile fell as he looked down, realizing the reason he had quit. "It must have been hard, not being able to play."

He nodded in agreement. "After hearing about what happened, it was like I lost touch with reality. The notes just weren't right." He idly plucked at the strings. "I believed I had gone completely tone deaf." He looked over at the group. _But these three…_ "I think… I think after all we've been through, after accomplishing as much as we have…," He sighed and strummed a couple of triumphant chords. He smiled at the sound- the only musical sound that would come to him, that he had become so familiar with, he could go completely deaf and still know it's voice. "I think my hearing has recovered in full."

"We can move forward," Pea proclaimed. "Silly bean! You were so sad, you couldn't hear the music. Now you're all better!" She raised her hands above her head and spread them out. "All better!"

The thief smirked at the girl. She may have had a point.

"But you still can't play anything else," Esther reminded him. "You're still tone deaf."

He growled as he glared at her. "And you're still not getting it. I've put in so much practice in this, that it doesn't matter! I've learned to work around it- the same way I've learned to work around not having a single shred of magic!"

"Yeah, by becoming a thief," Esther shot back.

Oliver got to his feet. "You two cut it out," he demanded before the thief could retort. He turned to the familiar tamer. "I mean, Swaine wasn't entirely right becoming a thief, but I kind of understand what he means. He worked hard to be as strong as he is." He glanced back at the man. "Whatever it is, it takes effort and practice! That's something we've all had to do! Whether we have magic," he looked between the three magic users in their party. "Or we don't," he concluded, looking back at Swaine.

At that, Marcassin looked away. He seemed suddenly lost in thought. "That's… not entirely true…"

"Hmm?" Swaine looked over at his brother. "What do you mean?"

"You have a little. It's just been never enough to cast spells," the sage observed. "I'm sure you remember when we tried to fight an ogre- it wasn't long before you left and before…," he trailed off, realizing that their father's demise wasn't long after. He shook his head again. "You tried to correct my casting by grabbing the scepter." He held back a chuckle. "There was a small surge of magical energy- _your_ magic."

"Er… No. That was all you if I recall," he corrected, rubbing the back of his head. "I've never been able to muster up a spark."

"Maybe its conditional," the young wizard suggested as he held a hand to his chin in thought. "Maybe it's only at its peak when you're trying to help. Maybe it's like your ability to play music- you're only able to do it when you're at your best."

"Which I wasn't, might you remember?" He focused on Oliver intently. "I was at odds with myself at the time-"

"You _still knew_ what you wanted, though," Esther reminded the man. "You said that once you make up your mind about something you see it through." She held her hands in front of her chest.

At that, the thief looked down. He glared at the ground. They were bringing up old history yet again. "Just drop it- it doesn't matter, alright?"

"Swaine," Esther prodded. "It _does_ matter."

The thief got up, using the mandolin as a bracer. "Let it go," he warned. "No sense discussing the past. I had very little magic. That's it. That's all there is to it."

Oliver groaned and shifted uncomfortably. He looked sympathetically up at the second eldest in their little group.

"No it's not," the harpist shouted, standing up abruptly. She stomped her foot. "You can't just keep running from it! You need to talk about it-!"

"I said drop it," Swaine snapped as he gripped the neck of the instrument tighter. "I don't want to talk. I don't need to."

"Esther, I really think we should leave him alone about this…," the young mage cautioned, seeing the irritable look on the cad's face.

The ruler nodded at the girl. "It might be for the best. It's a sore subject," Marcassin advised, now standing, too.

She shook her head, squinting her eyes shut. She opened them and stared at the rest of the group. "Yes. He _does_!" She looked back at the man she was arguing with. "How else are you going to heal?!" She thrust her hands toward the ground in frustration. "You're such a coward! All you ever do is run away from your problems, Swaine!" She gestured angrily at the mandolin. "That's all that is! It's just you running away from something you need to talk about!"

"Esther-," both the younger prince and the savior began to counter her, trying to rush to the thief's aid- or at least prevent him from an inevitable enraged fit.

"I said _shut up_ ," he roared, leaning towards the girl. "You haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about!"

"I do," she snapped back. "So put down the mandolin and talk! Gees, your so- so-!"

"So what," the thief interrogated her. "Cowardly? Foolish? Stubborn? …Rude?" He stepped forward, gripping the instrument so tight that his knuckles began to actually show through his skin. "Go on. Say it. Tell me what I am, hmm? Since you seem so _knowledgeable_ about me!" He pressed his free hand to his chest. "Tell me what I am, Esther! Tell me! Cause I haven't a god damned clue," he spat, breathing deeply as he seethed with rage.

The girl winced as she leaned away. He was standing less than a foot away. She stomped her foot and then glared at him despite her intimidation, staring him right in the eye. "Difficult!"

He raised an eyebrow and leaned back. "'Difficult'," he parroted. "How the hell-!"

"Every time any of us tries to connect, Swaine. Every time you have the chance to finally open up, you shut down! You make stupid little comments! You hide! You're so closed off!"

"Oh! Oh, that's rich! Outside of my history, I've been pretty honest with you lot," he scoffed, wagging a finger at her.

"But it's your _history_ , Swaine! You need to address it! It's been long enough!"

He stared intensely at her. _Long enough, huh?!_ In a brief moment of mania, he did what he never had dreamed of doing. He raised his prized instrument and threw it in the middle of their campfire. He turned to it and watched as it burned.

"No, no, no! Gascon! What are you thinking," his brother pleaded after a moment of stunned silence at the action. He dove for its head, wincing as the flames scorched his skin. He carefully set it down. He took off the cape around his neck and used it to put out the now damaged mandolin. Cringing again in pain, he cast Healing Hand on his arm to treat his burns. He would have to magically mend his clothes later.

"You're right…," the thief whispered. "It has." He looked over at his brother, at the instrument. He felt a tear escape his right eye at the sight. "The past should stay in the past, Esther." He turned to the familiar tamer. "I know it happened. I know what I've done. I've accepted it. So…," he heaved a gruff sigh. "I see no sense talking about it. My father's dead. I'm a thief. I've already avenged and protected the Empire- the world! And, hell, I'll do it again in a heartbeat."

He walked back to his spot and sat down next to Marcassin. He looked up at the others and cast a small sad smile. "There's really nothing to address." He looked over at Esther. "So, when I say drop it, I mean you should really drop it."

They were all quiet as they took in his words... His actions…

The sage sighed heavily. He stroked the burned wood and examined the frayed wires. He looked over at Swaine who seemed to be lost in melancholic thought and now bowed his head with his eyes closed. He cast Rejuvenate on the instrument.

"Wha- what are you doing," Oliver asked him, Pea hiding slightly behind him out of fear.

Marcassin raised a finger to his mouth.

"Gee, are you sure," he whispered.

"He said, 'quiet', didn't he," the fairy scolded from nearby.

Esther watched quietly and intently as the scene unfolded before her.

The ruler perched the mandolin carefully in his lap. He tried humming a tune he had heard his brother play before as a child- perhaps the first tune the thief had ever been seen practicing by his younger brother. He attempted to play it, messing up on several occasions.

Swaine opened his eyes at the sound. He slowly raised his head and looked over. He heard Marcassin curse under his breath occasionally when he misplaced a note or lost the rhythm and had to stop.

"What… what are you doing," he asked him quietly. "I threw that on the fire for a reason- to make a point."

"No," the emperor began. "You threw it on the fire because you were mad. You'd regret it later…" He exhaled in frustration when he realized he was playing out of key. "You love this mandolin- you always have. It was one of the best things father ever gave you. I couldn't stand to watch you destroy it." He smiled despite the fact that he had to stop once again to correct himself. "It holds a lot of good memories of the past. You know that better than I…" He sighed and stopped playing altogether. He handed his elder brother the instrument. "And I believe you wouldn't be the same without it."

As the thief took it, he rubbed the instrument as he admired the designs. The scratches and scuffs from years of use had been removed. The mandolin looked even better than before he had decided to destroy it. "Marcassin… I…,"

"Gascon, please." He met his brother's gaze. "Let this be a reminder to move forward. Do not let it be a reminder of your past mistakes." He chuckled at the thief. "Besides, only one of us could ever play that thing! I don't even know where to begin!"

As a small relieved smile crept up on the rogue's face, he heard Esther say, "I'm sorry…" He turned his attention to her. "I shouldn't have been so pushy…," she admitted, ringing her hands in front of her.

"I shouldn't have yelled," Swaine shot back. He smirked and straightened up a little. He looped the instrument over his person. "You know what, as an apology, what would you like to hear?"

"Huh? Y-you're letting me choose," she asked, beside herself at the sudden occasion. "Um, er… The Babana King," she blurted out.

His eyes widened, and he failed to hold back a chuckle. "The… 'The Babana King'?"

"What," she snarled.

"Isn't that a nursery rhyme," he questioned her.

"It's a good song," she whined, slumping down defeatedly as she pouted.

"Babana King! Pea knows that song," she cried. "Play it and feel better, bean man!" She began to chant, "Play it! Play it!"

The others, except the boy wizard and the thief in question, exchanged a unified nod and began to chime in on Pea's chant- even his younger brother seemed to join in, to his disbelief. What were they, six? He rolled his eyes.

"Looks like you're outvoted, Swaine," Oliver laughed.

"Yeah, it seems so…," He shook his head with a defeated smile. "Alright, alright. I'll play 'The Babana King'. Keep your hair on." And then, for the first time in a while, he played with an eagerness he hadn't felt since he was a kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw something… Something during a friend of mine's playthrough…
> 
> Swaine's tone deaf! He states it just after the completion of the Clarion. He says that he'd play it but he's tone deaf. How did I not see this? All this time. So… tying in with the whole idea that somehow somewhere Swaine may have gotten over his past, I decided to write in a work around of how he could possibly play the mandolin!
> 
> Cause damn it! I want to believe Swaine can play a mandolin! I won't let continuity stop me! I'll just take the continuity and use it to make this thief better! Cause I can do that!
> 
> Anyway… thoughts? Critiques?
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this… (I can't, for the life of me, stop writing about Swaine… I think I have a problem…)


	5. Auld Lang Syne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holiday chapter/drabble. Falls under the Mandolin headcanon and subsequently, _A Thief's Tune_.

Snow drifted softly from the sky, the clouds dark and grey. The air was crisp as various citizens kept the streets clear, some actively with shovels and others by simply running through them- most being small kids and teens.

The capital of the Northern Summerlands, Ding Dong Dell, was experiencing the first peaceful winter since the fall of both the Dark Djinn and the White Witch. Even the man partially responsible for its peace, who was passing through, seemed content with his freedom.

If only he had thought to bring his much thicker coat worn in Yule. If only he had thought to keep just enough spare change to afford a warm bed and a meal for one night.

Why else would he play such an ancient instrument? He found anonymity his companion, still, even with all of his efforts in saving this place and the rest of the world. Though, this time, he found it his bitter rival- if not, foe. Hardly anyone was paying attention to his playing. When they did pay attention, they dropped a guilder or two. At that rate, it wouldn't even matter. He'd just be sitting in the cold all night…

No one knew who he was. No one knew who he had been. No one even recognized him as one of the pure-hearted one's friends. He was a homeless pathetic vagrant yet again. He wasn't the picture of a hero.

He supposed that was for the best. He didn't help save the world for fame or recognition. He did so for his home, his brother… his father.

No, he really wished people would recognize him so he wouldn't freeze to death clutching his beloved mandolin as the closest thing to a friend he currently had.

It was a good thing he chose to play it under something, lest he'd be covered in snow as well.

So he stood there, strumming away with the case open out to the public for funds.

Alas, hardly a person was walking through the front part of the town. The Yule festival was happening.

He hoped he wouldn't die of hypothermia during the night. What a way to go out that would be. It was times like these he missed being able to rob people…

No. He shook his head. He made a promise to himself that he'd never go back to that. If he were going to survive his travels once more, he'd have to earn money through respectable means.

And he would suffer- according to his luck. He shrugged at the case. It wasn't the first time he slept outside in the cold.

As he was playing a song he had practiced quite a bit before in preparation for this exact day, barely holding anyone's attention, he spied a familiar mop of ginger hair walking on the other side of the street, feebly attempting to maintain his body heat with crossed arms across his chest. He picked up his playing, his sudden quick and rough strokes raising the volume. When the boy looked up from his morose gaze, he shouted. "Hey, kid! Over here!"

The child was wearing odd clothes, clothes from his world. He wore a cream shirt neatly stuffed into a pair of jeans. He seemed to look for the voice with a hint of desperation. He spied the man in the green trench coat and his face immediately brightened.

He ran towards him eagerly.

The former rogue stopped playing and quickly set his instrument down beside him. He knew what was about to happen. They hadn't seen each other in months since their victory.

A small set of arms belonging to a young but rather powerful wizard wrapped around the now thirty-five-year-old. He felt himself stumble back and he lifted his arms as he attempted to regain some of his balance. "Whoa," he grunted. "Easy, now."

He rubbed his face into the orange shirt under the jacket, overjoyed to have run into him on such short notice. He giggled when a hand rested on top of his head and ruffled his hair.

"What are you doing here," the musician playfully asked, looking down at the boy latched to his torso.

There was a muffled answer.

"Eh…," the thief queried. He tilted his head with a cupped ear. "I can't understand you, Oliver. Maybe you should try looking up when you speak?"

"But my face is cold," he said through the fabric. And the man he greeted was warm- despite his thin frame, that was.

"Well, who's fault is that?! You're the one who came here without a coat, aren't you?" He shook his head. "I'll give you my coat if you want...," he offered.

He thought of a question but didn't want to lift his head to expose his face to the elements. He squinted his eyes shut and quickly looked up. "Why don't we just go to a shop or something," he blurted out, pressing his face into the man's chest again.

"Well, a shop doesn't have steady foot traffic, now does it," he answered, rearing his neck back. He heard a confused grunt from the teen. "See, I'm trying to scrounge up some funds for a night's stay at an inn. I've been trying to be a little more…" He held out a hand to his right side, twirling it. "… _Honorable_  if you catch my meaning."

It seemed awfully peculiar to run into the man in Ding Dong Dell- it was so far from his hometown of Hamelin. "You didn't go home after all?"

At that, the former thief rubbed the back of his head. "Nah. Decided to take a once around the place before I finally settle back down." He let his arms fall to his side as he shrugged. "See what it's like when the world's at peace, you know?"

He raised an eyebrow as he glanced back down at his friend. "Now could you let me go? I need to get back to playing…"

Oliver sighed and finally released the man. He stood under the aunting next to him. He jumped when a green trench coat was placed on his shoulders. "Huh," he squeaked looking up. "Swaine? Don't you need this? I thought you hated the cold."

Swaine closed his eyes as he shivered from the brisk air. He shook his head. "I do, but I think you'll freeze worse than me just standing there." He lifted his instrument. "I'll keep my body moving while I play." He flashed a slightly discomforted smile. "I'll be fine." A tremor ran through him again. "It  _is bleeding cold_ , though," he complained.

"Um… Alright…" He stood there and listened as the man begun to play a tune. He regretted not bringing his bag. He regretted not bringing any guilders. He looked out at the street. It seemed less busy than usual. Perhaps… they were celebrating the same day here, too.

 _"I'm sorry, dear. I'll be visiting family during the holidays,"_ Miss Leila had said.  _"Would you like to come? There's always room at our table for one more."_  He recalled declining politely, saying he didn't want to intrude and said he'd ask Phil if he could join them.

 _"Eh… We're kind of not into that. Sorry, Ollie."_ He apparently had other plans. He said he'd ask Myrtle… but she had already gone out of town when he got to her house. He didn't know Denny well enough to ask…

He recalled sitting in his house, staring down at the rug in his living room. He remembered recalling his mother and him exchanging gifts, drinking hot cocoa, singing songs, and sitting near the fire as she read fairy tales to him with overexaggerated voices.

He was alone this year. His mother was gone. He had no other family… He would be all by himself and no one knew… And for some reason, that hurt.

In an effort to spend time with  _anyone_  he traveled back to Ding Dong Dell. The man beside him playing his mandolin would never know how lonely he had felt just a few moments ago. Even in the cold, the comfort he felt of being next to another person during this time of year was something he cherished.

He pulled the shabby coat tighter. It was so full of holes it barely kept the chill out.

He remembered bringing his wand. He pulled it from his belt and looked at it. By now, he had pretty much memorized the most basic spells in the Wizards Companion…

He drew the symbol for Rejuvenate. The holes filled in. The coat protected him better from the frostbitten breeze a little better.

"What was that," Swaine asked Oliver.

"Umm….," he looked down, gripping the coat. "Your coat wasn't keeping out the cold. So I…" He shrugged. "…Fixed it?"

He raised an eyebrow at the jacket covered boy. He looked down at the object in question. So he had. Even the thin frayed patches that threatened new holes in the coat had become whole again. It looked like new to him. He replaced the lost look on his face with a gentle, grateful smile. "Thanks."

Swaine looked at the mandolin in thought. For a moment he considered it to repay the boy for his kind deed- even if it was out of a need to keep himself warm. He shook his head. Some other way perhaps...

A breeze swept through and he shivered, reminded of the very reason he was out there.

Oliver watched the people pass by. Very few would stop and put a coin or two in. Most would watch as they walked, listening to the man's music as they traveled.

They all seemed to be heading towards the main square in front of the palace, he noticed.

"Hey, Swaine," he asked the thief after another song was done.

"Hmm?" He turned his head back to look down at the teen.

"How come you don't just ask King Tom to stay at the palace…? You  _are_  royalty," he pointedly suggested.

He scoffed. "I certainly don't look the part." He gestured to his worn outfit. "Besides, I don't like asking for favors from people that high up- not unless it's crucial."

"But… Your health is crucial," the boy argued. "And you helped save the world. Just… Ask nicely."

The thief chuckled. "Yeah, but you'd be surprised by the sheer amount of people who don't remember any of us exist." He sighed. "They just remember  _you_ , Oliver." He held his hands away from his sides as he shook his head. "That's how history works. The generals are the ones with the name recognition. Memorials are made to remember the soldiers but the ones who lead…? They get all the credit," he lectured him, though with a halfhearted smile.

At Oliver's shocked, slightly saddened look- even with mouth agape- he grinned. "It's alright, kiddo. I don't blame you." He laughed. "We certainly didn't save the world for fame and glory, right?" He patted the boy on the shoulder before gripping the neck his mandolin again.

"It's not fair," he whispered as Swaine began to play once more.

He looked down at the case. "Why don't you go to the festival and play?"

The man stopped short. "I don't think they'd want to hear me… Not really." He shrugged. "I'm not nearly as good at this as I am at being a thief- not quite yet."

"You keep saying things like that about your music," the boy analyzed. "How do you know you're not?"

"I just do. It's horrible. Or at least it's horrible to me." He picked at the mandolin. "The notes don't always sound right…" He shook his head. "No matter how I tune it, they sometimes just don't work." He sighed. "I suppose I left it sitting for too long."

"I think it sounds fine." The boy looked back at the case with scattered coins- about twenty- in the case. "Apparently other people think so, too." Oliver tilted his head up to look at the dejected face of his friend. He wondered if talking to him about it further would even convince him.

He focused on the case. There was only one way to convince him.

He bolted towards the case and slammed it shut. He picked it up and held it over his head- it was a lot lighter without the instrument inside it.

"Hey," the man shouted, starting after him. "Oliver! What the hell?! Come back here with my case!" He had some trouble keeping up, balancing the instrument in his hand while running- it hampered his movement.

"Then play in the square, Swaine," Oliver shouted back over his shoulder.

"I  _told_ you, I'm not any good!"

"I told  _you_  that you sound fine," the boy threw back.

" _Oliver_ ," Swaine growled. "Get back here! Right now," he demanded. "This isn't funny!"

"That's odd," the boy began to retort. "I wasn't joking!"

They ran all the way to the square.

As the boy entered the center, he lowered his arms to look around. The buildings that surrounded them had streamers made of evergreen accompanied with red bows. In the center of the bows were small cat heads. There were small bells dangling from the bows themselves.

As the thief stumbled in, he noticed the people chatting, getting festive food only available at that time of year. So many of them were enjoying each other's' company. So many of them were arm and arm in a drunken stupor, warbling traditional tunes. So many of them played games at the stalls lining the streets for the simple fun of it, much of them were kids who also ran through the square with toys that had been bought by their parents from vendors, chasing one after another. What could be considered the Northern Summerland's version of the Yule Harvest Feast was in full swing.

The cat king stood at the front of the square, looking over all of his citizens partaking in the festivities. At once, he noticed the duo and moved forward, the crowd of people moving aside for him.

Seeing this, the boy's attention quickly turned to the ruler, letting the owner of the case take it back.

"Oh, what does one see before oneself?" He looked down at the two. "Oliver, the savior of the world, and…," his eyes fell on the musician. "Please excuse one's memory, but one does not believe to have ever been introduced to you properly."

The man scratched the back of his head, letting the instrument sag. "Oh… Uh…" He couldn't find the words. He had never been addressed directly by any ruler other than his own brother or father when he thought about it. "It's…" He looked down. "Gascon," he muttered under his breath.

"What's that? Gascon, you say," the cat king made out, leaning in with a paw near an ear.

The man cleared his throat. "That's right. I am…," he began, letting out a gruff sigh. "Prince Gascon… Though in this form you could just call me Swaine, you're Meowjesty."

"Swaine, I thought you-," Oliver started to say.

"He'll have to know anyway. After all, if I have to do anything for Marcassin, better get the whole introduction out of the way." He shrugged and swayed his head nonchalantly towards his friend.

"What a peculiar name for a peculiar hero…," the king noted. He spied the instrument hanging from the former thief's shoulders. "…With a peculiar instrument. Tell one, are you here to play for the festival," King Tom questioned him.

"Well- I wasn't- Are you asking me to-," Swaine stammered. He could feel a cold sweat go down his back at the very thought.

"Yes. He is, your Meowjesty," Oliver answered for him.

"Most excellent," the feline beamed.

Swaine froze, his eyes wide as he stared at his friend. Had he lost it?! He couldn't possibly put on a show to impress royalty! What the hell was this kid thinking?!

He had to think quickly. He couldn't just sing any random song, either. They had to be  _Yule_  songs. Then he thought even more carefully about it. He could just play one- make a grand spectacle of it. Perhaps that would sate both of them.

"Ehehe. Yeah. Only one song, but it will be quite the festive one if you don't mind," he dodged.

"Only one," the young savior whined.

"I… never performed for such an esteemed audience, Oliver. One song should be all it takes." He winked at the cat king. "Isn't that right, your Meowjesty?"

"If that is what you believe will entertain the public."

Swaine nodded, smirking. "Well, then. Give us a moment to prepare our number, hmm?" He raised eyebrows at King Tom in a sly attempt at permission.

When the ruler of Ding Dong Dell allowed it, the musician drug his friend over to the side. "Oliver, are you mad," he harshly whispered. "I can't do this!"

"Sure you can! How hard can it be?"

"Pretty damn hard!" He flailed his arms over his head. "What if we mess up? We're playing for royalty, after all!"

At the distressed tone, the boy looked down. "S-sorry, Swaine…" He shook his head vigorously and then looked up in determination. "But there wasn't any other way I could think of to convince you! You're really talented!"

"Not  _musically!_  I'm tone deaf, remember!" He bowed his head in defeat. He glanced over his shoulder. "I don't have a clue what we're going to do."

"You don't have any really energetic songs after all…?"

"Well, I actually have one… Just one." He smirked. "How about a practice session," he quipped as he readied his mandolin.

He gave his young friend the words, the melody, the rhythm. The song wasn't hard to pick up. It was about the celebration in general and enjoying the company with other people.

"Oh, and give me back my jacket, will you? I need it for flare."

"What? But Swaine… it's cold," Oliver protested.

"I'll give it back after the performance… Or…," he began to reason as an idea struck him. "We could just head to Al Mamoon and see Esther."

"Huh? But…"

Swaine tussled his friend's hair. "Come on, you didn't come here just to see me. Admit it." He laughed at this knowledge.

"I mean… I guess we could…" He supposed it was only fair. He  _was_  just staying by the man's side to keep him company, really. Plus, it would get them out of the cold.

Oliver nodded and took the jacket off from around his shoulders. He handed it to the man wielding the string instrument. "Okay. It's a deal!"

When they walked back into the center, the cad winked at the cat king to wish good luck on their performance. It started with a loud strum of notes to get the crowd's attention. They stamped out the beat, the boy using the case for the thief's instrument as a drum and the wizarding tome the mallet.

They danced around each other, singing their song, performing their show. To the older man's joy, the crowd began to clap along to the tune. It brought quite the smile to his face.

In between choruses, Oliver would chant while remaining in tune,  _"Time for friends, time for feast, time to prepare that roast beast,"_  then Swaine would continue with the verse,  _"Time for fun, time for peace, time to carve that roast beast,"_ before continuing to the next chorus.

They repeated it again, though in unison, in the end, the thief had stopped playing the mandolin for the finale, bowing while keeping his head raised and a cheeky grin on his face. Oliver remained in the background, still keeping rhythm.

The crowd went wild with applause. They cheered at the unscheduled performance. At that, the two joined hands and bowed at the audience and their beloved king.

King Tom came forward once again, a smile on his feline lips. "Most excellent show! Surely one must ask, do you have more?"

"Sadly… no, your Meowjesty. Like I said, the rest are all slower, nonperformance pieces." The lanky man laughed sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his head. "If I'm allowed to be honest, this was all very last minute."

The cat king narrowed his eyes at the man in consideration. "Then it is that quick thinking one suspects you to have used in helping  _the_  hero of this world save the world?" He bellowed a hearty laugh. "What an excellent mind!" He motioned with a paw towards the vendors and the people who were enjoying the festivities. "Will you be joining the festivities, Sir Gascon?"

Another nervous chuckle from the thief. "Sorry, but no, your Meowjesty…" He bowed slightly. He exchanged a glance with Oliver who nodded and smiled back at him. "We've friends to visit this holiday, you know?"

The large feline scratched his chin. "Ah, one acknowledges this. If it is obligations you must attend, then do not let one stop you." He nodded. "It has been a pleasure hearing you play, Prince Gascon. As a friend of Oliver, you are welcome to return to one's abode at any time."

Swaine's eyes widened at such a gesture. "You- You're serious?!" He leaned forward, his hand clenching his instrument tighter. When the cat king nodded in response, he took a deeper bow. "Much obliged, your grace," he gratefully returned. He stood tall, smiling up at the generous feline.

"Well, you have pressing matters, do you not? One will not hold you here much longer." He waved them away with a flick of his paw. "Make haste. Surely your friend should not be kept waiting."

The thief clapped his hands and rubbed them. "Right! Oliver?" He turned to the side to look back at his friend. "Shall we get going, then?"

The young mage nodded gleefully. "Let's go."

At that, the thief turned to make his leave.

"Your Meowjesty," Oliver called out before following the man. "Before we leave I just want to say… Thank you for letting Swaine play." He bowed his head. "He really needed it."

"On the contrary! It was one's pleasure," the cat king replied. He looked over the kid at Swaine standing at the plaza exit, waiting patiently for him to catch up. "Now go- he is waiting."

The boy giggled and ran after his friend.

"What took you?"

"I just needed to say bye to King Tom," Oliver answered when he got close.

"Right. Off to Al Mamoon, then?"

A laugh, then a pull of the wand, Mornstar. He cast Travel and they were whisked away to the sunny capital of the Southern Summerlands.

* * *

The thief took back the mandolin, putting it in its case for reasons not yet known to his young friend. He draped the case over his back and stood up straight as they faced the entrance.

Upon entering the city, the two were greeted with a peculiar sight. Men, women, and children were throwing colored powder and dyes at one another. They all seemed to giggle and laugh as their appearances were constantly changed with each wild fling of an arm. Even the buildings were stained lightly with the spray of colored dust- even the adventurer's facilities were brightly redecorated with various hues.

"Ah. I had a feeling that they were up to this, still," the man commented.

"Huh? What is it?"

"The way they celebrate the winter harvest…," he began to explain. "And also how they celebrate surviving another year." He chuckled and looked down at Oliver as they walked. "There's a lot more to it than that, but that's the gist."

"My clothes are getting pretty stained," the mage muttered, looking down. He thought it fortunate that he knew how to use Rejuvenate. He'd get in a lot of trouble if he returned home with bright dyes covering his clothes if Miss Leila were there.

"Yeah, we'll definitely need to fix that later-," the man began to say when he noticed a certain blond pigtail ahead of him. "Hey! Esther," he shouted through the crowd.

When she turned, she bore a face of utter confusion. That was quickly replaced with a large, bright smile. She ran up to them and wrapped her arms around both of them, spreading what powder covered her body onto the two boys.

When she let go, she looked at them both. "What are you two doing here?"

"Oh, you know… Just thought we'd drop by," Swaine nonchalantly said.

He winced when a cloud of pink powder hit his shoulder. "What the-," he started, connecting the shot with the pink covered hand of the familiar tamer.

"Oh! Sorry! I'm just really in the spirit of things, you know?"

"Yeah! It's a really neat way to spend the holiday!" Oliver looked around at the activity. "So why do you celebrate it like this?"

"Well originally," Esther began. "It was in hopes of bringing color back into the lives affected by Shadar, hoping that one day good would triumph over evil. That's why it's so colorful!" She giggled and held her hand to her chest. "But now that he's defeated, it celebrates that  _and_  the babana harvest!"

"Neato," the boy exclaimed.

She giggled again before looking up at the thief. "Oh? You brought your mandolin?"

"Yeah," Swaine answered. "But with all this powder, it wouldn't be good for it if I played."

People singing and performing percussion instruments littered the streets as well, singing loud cheerful tunes. Others were shouting with glee as they decorated each other with paints. The noise of the crowd would drown him out. "I don't think people would hear my playing, anyway."

She bobbed her head in understanding. "I see. It wouldn't be good for my harp if I played it either."

"Yeah, you'd probably accidentally hurt someone with that thing." The thief rubbed the back of his head. He got elbowed in the chest for that one.

"Watch it, Swaine," she warned.

She turned to Oliver. "Hey, you want to go color people?"

The mage looked down at his already ruined clothes. He might as well. "Sure!" He looked up at the thief. "Do you want to join us?"

"Nah." Swaine shook his head in response. "I'll find somewhere quiet, don't you worry."

And so he did. Surprisingly, the Cat's Cradle plaza was devoid of the festive color throwing people. He found himself content with his mandolin there. He strummed a tune idly as he recovered from all the noise of the other festivities in the calm stillness of the inn plaza. He hummed softly to himself. He was covered head to toe with dyes and powder, he realized. He made the right choice keeping his beloved memento concealed upon entering.

It was nice, being away from the crowded streets, especially after that performance in Ding Dong Dell. Truthfully, he preferred to remain alone or at the very least, in a small group. He only used the crowds as cover or when he needed to blend in. Otherwise, it was just too much. The music comforted him.

Oliver laughed as he shielded himself from the dye his friend was throwing at him.

"So what are you two doing," the harpist shouted. Shielding herself from return fire.

"I don't know," he returned. "I guess we're just traveling around to see everyone today. You know to say hi and celebrate the holidays?" He rocketed a ball of bright pink paint at the blonde's arm.

"Ow! Hey," she snapped playfully as she pulled out a handful of mostly blue powder from the small bag at her hip. "And you're bringing Swaine along? Why?"

The boy shrugged, another handful of dye casually being held in his hand. "He seemed lonely…" He tossed it and looked down. Or was it because  _he_  was lonely? He had no one to celebrate the new year with and neither did the thief. Esther had this tradition and her family and so did everyone else… But Swaine?

When he came back to their world- when he found the cad standing at the street corner playing the instrument. He seemed to have no one nor any home to go to. He had nobody- just an old mandolin and the memories of times long gone.

He lowered the powder he had readied to throw. "I don't know…," he said with a shrug. "He just seemed kind of… like he needed to get out of the cold- like he needed a friend."

They stood in silence as they let his explanation sink in.

Green powder showered over the ginger's head. He grunted in surprise.

"Try and catch me," Esther cheered as she ran up the street.

"Haha, you're on!"

They chased each other up to the Cawtermaster's store. "Hey, do you think they're open," he wondered, looking up at the completely re-colored store.

"They should be. They help supply the dyes, after all," Esther answered. She tilted her head curiously at the wizard. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, in my world, people exchange gifts to each other for the season. And I..." He shifted nervously. "I wanted to..." He shook his head and looked down at his feet. "No, never mind."

He felt a hand grab his right shoulder lightly. He looked up at the harpist. "That sounds nice, Oliver." She smiled lightly at him. "Why don't we get something for the people your visiting?"

"Are you sure? I mean, it's not your tradition and... I don't have any money," he admitted hesitantly.

"I can at least help you get something for Swaine." She shrugged. "I think Mr. Drippy will just be glad you visited," she joked as she rolled her eyes. "But we'll get something for him, too."

"What about you? What about Marcassin? "

"Your present to me is letting me help. Nothing feels better than helping someone to me, Oliver." She giggled. "And Marcassin's can be you bringing his hopeless big brother back home!"

"O-okay," he stammered. He nodded with renewed confidence. "Yeah! Sure!"

When they entered the store, they both had to stifle a laugh. The Cawtermaster himself seemed covered with a rainbow of colors. Even his beak was painted. Surprisingly, the rest of the store remained untouched.

"You seem awfully  _colorful_ , today, Mr. Cawtermaster," Esther teased. "What happened?"

He cawed raising his wings before answering her. "I was cawt off guard when I opened shop! Ambushed I was! My feathers got cawvered ravenously by a bunch of birdbrained passersby! The shop got completely vandalized!" He tilted his head and blinked at the girl.

Her smile dropped. "I'm so sorry that happened! Are you going to be okay?"

"Not to worry! I was merely cawt off-guard." The birdman tilted his head to the other side. "I'm such a pretty bird, now! And so is my shop!" She swore she saw a smile at the corners of the shop keeper's beak. "Caws of this, my shop will be more noticeable as the day goes on!"

"Oh… Okay," Oliver answered. "That's good." He gave a short laugh.

"So… do you have anything that would make good gifts," the mage finally asked after looking from side to side.

"I'm Cawtermaster, not a Hootenanny," he chirped. "Unless you're looking for weapons and weapons supplies, you're roosting in the wrong tree!"

"Weapons supplies," the girl parroted. "Like polish? Do you have any all-purpose polish?"

The boy turned to his friend. "You mean for Swaine…?"

"Yeah! I think he could use it, don't you, Oliver?"

"Of caws I have all-purpose polish," the bird interrupted. He crouched for a moment and lifted a bottle. "Anything else?"

"Umm… Slapsticks," Oliver asked, pointing at the torso of the bird.

"Ah…" The bird jerked his head to the other side and straightened up again. "No, I don't believe I know what you're squawking about."

"They're these flat sticks. Kind of like small boards," the boy described, opening his hand towards the shopkeep.

The bird made a low chirping noise. He excused himself to look in his supplies. He returned with two small boards. "These were leftover pieces of wood from armor. They should do?"

Oliver inspected them. They were flat enough- even if they didn't seem like the traditional stick the fairy preferred.

"Yeah. Thanks!"

"How much," Esther asked as she stepped forward. "For both of them?"

"Take them. In light of the holidays, consider it a token of flightful gratitude."

The blonde's eyes widened. She slowly smiled at the shopkeep. "Thank you," she cheered as she grabbed the items from the counter.

"Cawme again," he crowed after the two.

When they returned to the entrance, they listened for the sound of a mandolin. It was difficult to pin down through the din.

"Where do you suppose he went," Esther wondered, looking around.

"Somewhere quiet." The boy looked for the calmest area in their vicinity.

When they found that the plaza in front of the inn was fairly docile, they exchanged nods and approached.

As they entered the somewhat still plaza, the soft chords of a mandolin being played greeted them both. They entered to see the thief playing.

"Ah. You're back! I was beginning to worry," he said almost to the tune of the instrument. "You two have fun?"

The boy bounded forward as he cheered, "Oh, yeah!" But once he got closer, he looked down. "Um…,"

At this sudden hesitation, the thief's nonchalant smirk fell right along with his playing. He pulled himself from the wall. "What is it?"

"Er… We got something for you," the boy began. He pulled a small bottle of polish from his pocket. "Swaine, um… Thank you." He handed the bottle over to the thief.

He looked down at the bottle before reaching to accept it. It had been a long time since anyone had given him anything for a special occasion. He took it and proceeded to open it. He smiled softly at the oily substance inside and then back at the two kids. He closed the lid.

He bent down and roped them both into a hug, of which they were both caught off guard. "Thank you- both of you."

"Um= okay. Sure, Swaine," the boy stammered.

The girl looked over at the man's head. "Are… You okay?"

"I'm fantastic!" He pulled away, beaming at the two of them. "This is exactly what I needed!"

The two exchanged pleased glances. "Really," they both shouted.

He released them and smirked. "Yeah. Lucy was looking a little dull and my gun  _could_  use a little grease." He tossed the bottle between his hands playfully. He looked at the two teens. Leave it to them to think of such useful gifts. "This'll certainly come in handy."

Esther tilted her head with a small smile. "Well, we're glad you liked it."

"Yeah," Oliver agreed.

The girl backed away. "Well, I suppose you two will be leaving soon?"

"Oh, yeah! I still have to give Mr. Drippy a gift!"

The thief rolled his eyes but maintained a cheerful grin. "Yes. Sure. Let's go see his Fairy Lordship," he snidely commented.

"Oh, would you be quiet- you know you missed him, too," the harpist jabbed. "It's only fair that you guys go see him."

"You're not coming, Esther," the mage asked, eyeing her.

She shook her head. "No. I've got other plans with my family," she answered. She waved at them both. "See you two later! Say, 'hi' to everyone for me, okay?"

The savior giggled. "Sure."

The next place of venue was the Fairygrounds. Swaine wasn't looking forward to it. Then again… he supposed he could stand to hear some comedy. A good laugh never hurt anyone.

When they magically appeared in front of the Fairygrounds entrance, their ears were greeted with laughter- more laughter than usual when they had previously visited the area. They entered to find most of its inhabitants missing from the front- or more, surrounding the Cavity Club stage.

They approached the heart of the fairy homeland. Three fairies stood on the stage- Drippy, and the other two most known comedians of the island. Their act seemed to be a three-man act involving literal slapstick comedy. It was quite interesting to see- one would say something as a comeback, but the other would correct them but not before hitting whoever it was with a slapstick. The act ended with Drippy smacking both of them in the back of the head, shouting, "Lay off, mun!"

That sent the fairies into a roar of laughter, especially when the other two fell over comedically. Even the thief and the wizard were not immune to the humor.

It seemed they had come right before an intermission. The fairies dispersed momentarily. Some went to the shops to open up for brief concessions. The two fairies got up and jumped off the stage to discuss an upcoming act. Drippy, however, walked off to the side to squint at the crowd.

"Hey! Don't pretend you can't see us! We're the largest ones here," the thief jested.

"Youer sure? Cause I don't see you, thief-face!"

"You must be going blind in your old age,  _your lordship_ ," he tossed back. They stood in front of the stage.

"Ta, mun! I can see as clear as ever! Youer just easy to miss with all that green!"

The thief and the mage exchanged glances before looking back at the fairy. "Mr. Drippy, I'm standing right next to him! Can you see me?"

The fairy waived it away. "Of course, I can, Ollie-boy! I was just joking around!" He slapped the leg of the teen. "So what brings you by here, bunting? Missed ol' Mr. Drippy, did ya?" He did a pose as if he were about to fight. "Your best friend- your sidekick?"

"I just came here to spend time with people for the holidays." He looked up at the thief. "I just ran into Swaine first and we've been going around seeing our friends!"

"Yeah, sure beats playing a mandolin while your fingers freeze off in the cold," the man responded. He was starting to finally put his instrument away.

The fairy caught the slight glimmer of the mandolin. "This next act could use a musical touch! There's useful!"

The man continued to stare at his case. As soon he realized it his comment was directed at him, he stepped back in shock. He looked down at the fairy in slight bewilderment. "Huh- What? Me?!" He shook his head, throwing his hands up. "You can't be serious!"

"You can be my partner even!" He held up a tiny hand. "That will make the next round flow even better if I just have you, eh? There's tidy."

He faltered. He frowned. "Umm. Sorry…," He gritted his teeth as he looked around and scratched his head. "What the hell is this all for, again? And-!" He squinted his eyes shut and grimaced. "Why me?! I'm not a comedian- far from it!"

"Could have fooled me! All those jokes you made during our journey? You were always trying to squeeze a laugh out o' everyone! Ta, mun!" He waved his tiny fairy hand down for emphasis.

The thief began to sweat nervously. He bit the bottom of his lip. "That- that? It was just… er… keeping things from getting touchy- lightening the mood, yeah?" He gripped the head of the mandolin tightly- he had frozen in place at the mere mention of performing on stage. He shook his head again. "And you didn't answer my question, you bizarre gnome!"

"Aye- I didn't, did I. There's careless." He shook his tiny head before looking back up at the pair. "See we have a big ol' laughing bonanza for all of fairy kind every year. We do it to keep the cheer in the bleakest times, see? Mam's a big believer in the ol' keeping a cheerful demeanor through tough times. Helps get through 'em, she says!" He nodded, the lantern jangling with the motion. "Now we do it to celebrate Ollie-boy here!" He pointed at the young wizard. "We laugh to celebrate laughing in the face of ol' Shadar! Even the littlies join in a couple o' times!"

"So that's what's going on," the boy chimed in, smiling down at the fairy. "Then you'll be needing this, right, Mr. Drippy?" He pulled out his gift and handed it to him.

He looked at it with wide eyes. His largemouth hung open in awe at the sight of them. They seemed to be made out of solid oak. "By-the-by-! Where'd you get such premium slapsticks, Ollie-boy?!"

"I got them in Al Mamoon from the Cawtermaster's," Oliver answered, keeping his hand outstretched.

Drippy picked up the pair of sticks. He slapped them together and then into his tiny palm. He closed his eyes and nodded, the lantern jangling and shaking at the end of his nose. He opened his eyes. "Jus' what the next act needed!" He looked over to Swaine. "Well- it'll be startin' soon! Places!" He waved towards the stage.

The thief raised his hand in hesitation. "Uh- Wait- I never said-!"

"Oi! Don't be shy, mun! A little jokin' never hurt ya! It'll be fun," the fairy encouraged.

"But… How do I put this-," he struggled to explain. "I don't  _get_  fairy humor. I think it's hilarious, it's just I don't know how you approach your jokes and all…" He looked away from the stage. "I'm not sure this will work."

The fairy looked dumbfounded at the taller man. " _'Don't get fairy humor'_  he says," he finally blurted. He stepped back in front of them and pointed a tiny yellow finger at the cad. "Listen here, fairy humor is just like any humor- where do you think most humor comes from-, or I ain't Lord High Lord o' the Fairies! And even if it wasn't-!" He snapped his tiny hand while swinging it across his upper body. "It would make the jokes even better!" He stamped a tiny blue foot towards the man who leaned back. "Now are you going to help ol' Drippy out or not, Swainey-boy?"

He was a loss for words. He had just been lectured by Drippy… The least threatening of anything he had faced in all of their journeys- and he still somehow felt intimidated by him. He cringed at the name he had just used, too…  _Swainey-boy… What the hell…?_  He recalled repeating in his head. He looked down at Oliver to find the boy looking up at him expectantly.

He finally let out a defeated sigh, stealing a side glance with his eyes at the stage. "Fine… I suppose it would be fun to see what happens."

"Right-o," Drippy cheered, jumping up from his place. "There's lovely!"

And so they began the next act. Oliver sat in the audience while Swaine sat on the edge of the stage, the case for his instrument leaning against the side of the structure. The thief braced the mandolin against his knee as he watched the crowd begin to reappear around the Cavity Club.

It started with Drippy introducing the newcomer to the act. In response to it, the thief strummed the mandolin and gave a short wave.

"So what will we do," the thief questioned the fairy.

The fairy shrugged. "Well improv, I suppose!"

The mandolin let out a sharp yelp. Swaine jerked his head to the side. "What?! You mean to say you don't know what we're going to be joking about?" He rolled his eyes. "There's a laugh!"

"Oi, and a proper one, too!" The fairy jabbed the thief lightly on the side. The audience seemed to chuckle.

The thief shook his head again. "Seriously, what are we doing?"

"This," Drippy claimed, exaggeratedly stretched out his arms towards the crowd, looking up at the man.

"What now?"

"Now what," the fairy returned.

"I don't know."

"Well, you ought to know."

"Hey, hey, hey," Swaine began, strumming a sharp note with each "hey". "Who's the comedian here, Drippy?"

"Who?"

"Yeah. Who?"

"I don't know a bloke by that name. Is he any good?"

Swaine raised an eyebrow. Silence prevailed "That wasn't even funny!"

The audience laughed at the rebuttal.

"Fine, fine," Drippy resigned. "How 'bout this! We tell about our feats!" He waved towards Swaine who continued to observe him. "I'll start." He cleared his throat. "There we were, surrounded by several large ravenous beasties… Everyone was on their last flippin' leg. Then I jumped in and took 'em all on! I-"

" _Time the hell out_ ," the man snapped, letting another sharp squeal from the mandolin into the air. "That never happened!"

"Youer sure?"

"I would have  _been there_!"

"Fine, youer right… But what about the time I tamed tha-"

"That was  _Esther_!"

"Or the time I punched the beast in the no-"

"My Papa Sasquash could punch better-," He began to insult, rolling his eyes. He stopped short when he felt a pair of slapsticks smack him on the arm. "Hey!"

"And he could take 'em better, too!"

" _Hey!_ "

The crowd began to laugh at them both. The thief smirked. So it was light-hearted jeering they wanted, he presumed.

"So, Drippy," he began.

"Oi, what is it, mate?"

He started to strum a calm tune. "I was thinking of installing a light fixture in my home…"

"Oi! You have a home?"

Swaine nodded. "Yeah. I need your help with something."

"Hold on, I got ye!" The fairy crouched. "You need me to light up the place, like?"

The thief scoffed. "You'd be too tacky!"

"Tacky?"

"No, on second thought," the thief corrected himself, interrupting his strumming with a strangled note. "You'd barely stick to the ceiling."

"Good, cause I don't think I could hang about," the fairy added.

The crowd roared with laughter. They continued this banter of jokes, some failing, some hilarious.

All that mattered to the man was seeing a smile on the young wizard's face. He had looked so gloomy in Ding Dong Dell. It wasn't until he saw him laughing happily did he realize how much  _he_ needed this little journey, too. He missed this- experiencing the world with a friend by his side- especially after months of walking alone.

The act ended and they both bowed at the audience. It was time for yet another intermission.

"Thank you for helpin' ol' Drippy out," the fairy said. "Rough start, but I think I even heard me mam laugh." He lightly patted the thief on the arm.

Swaine was finally putting away his mandolin. "Oh, yeah. No problem."

Oliver approached. "You were really good, Swaine!" He turned to the fairy. "So were you, Mr. Drippy!"

The fairy waved it away with his arm. "Ah, it was nothing. Not even my best act, to tell ya the truth."

"Yeah…," the man groaned with the back of his head. "Sorry for dragging you under."

The fairy shook his head. "Youer fine, Swaine. You aren't a professional comedian and I won't hold ya to it." He grinned. "And that mandolin of yours really lightened the mood, like!"

The man nodded. "So it did."

"Are ya stayin' for another go?"

The mage shook his head. "No. Sorry, Mr. Drippy."

Swaine turned to the boy with raised eyebrows. "Are you certain? We could stay if you wanted."

Oliver shook his head. "Yeah. I'd love to, but there's just one last place we have to go."

The fairy shifted and hung his head sadly to the side. "I see, Ollie-boy. Got a more important goal in mind, do ya?"

"Yeah! What  _are_ you playing at," the thief asked as he turned to look incredulously at his young friend. "Why the ruse?"

The boy smiled up at his friend. "It's a surprise!"

The thief placed both hands on his hips. "For who?"

"For you, Swaine," Oliver answered.

The man and the fairy exchanged confused glances at each other.

"Don't look at me, mun- I haven't a clue." Drippy shrugged as he said this.

When they were transported to their next location, a sense of dreadful familiarity hit the thief. The ground was hard, the smell of smoke and ash from nearby vents wafted over them, and a giant structure of the entrance leading down to the capital of a machine empire loomed over them.

"H-Hamelin?!" He looked down at Oliver with mild disdain. "Why?"

The boy shifted nervously. "I thought… y'know, since it's the holidays…"

His look softened when he realized the kid's true intention. "I see, Oliver." He patted the boy's shoulder as he walked past him. "Come on. Let's go say hello, hmm?"

When they walked in, they noticed everything was… different. There were red bows on the doors where the handles would be. Lamps were decorated with pig-themed banners and connected with gold and green streamers. The main road was open as if prepared for a procession.

Only, one thing was off. There were people walking with foil covered containers- also wrapped in bows. Most of them seemed to be coming from the palace entrance.

They had stopped short at the side of it- the former eldest prince of Hamelin having halted at what he saw. "He's not…," the man gasped at the sight, a ghost of a smile at the corner of his lips.

The boy, hearing his friend's excitement in his tone, looked up in wonder. "What is it, Swaine?"

The man chuckled. "Something special… Something…" He raised a hand and shook it as he gathered his thoughts, his fingers curled in towards his palm. "That this kingdom hasn't seen since  _he_  reigned." He glanced at Oliver. " _He_ , despite everything… Despite Shadar, despite  _me_ , was very keen on this celebration…" He smiled knowingly, warmly. "Even if the Royal Procession was our most cherished event,  _this_  was always one of the ones  _he_ was sure to do…" He started walking again, keeping that hand at nearly chest height.

When they got to the palace entrance, they saw it: tables of food- three rows of it. Most of it was meat, but there were also bread and cooked vegetables. Palace guards and servants were packing away meals among the rows and in the very front the Great Sage himself was handing them out to the people that came by.

"Marcassin," the young mage asked as they approached. "What is all this?"

The ruler looked up and put the food back on the table to address him. "Oliver! I was not expecting you!" He bobbed his head in greeting. "Forgive me."

He looked at the tables and handed the next meal to another person who needed it. "This is the yearly Hamelin Yule feast where we take everything in the palace larder and then some and feed it to those who need it. It's a means of celebration for those who have made it through the toughest parts of the year-."

He finally noticed the man behind him. "G-Gascon," he gasped. He walked around Oliver to meet with his brother.

Swaine followed the sage's movement. "Hey…" He smiled at his younger brother. "I guess… I came back for the holidays after all…"

Marcassin looked into the eyes of his brother. He wrapped his arms around the man's shoulders. "Welcome back," he whispered into his ear before letting go. He laughed nervously. "I  _knew_  there was someone missing from this event. I just couldn't place it."

The sage looked over at the boy. "Thank you, Oliver, for bringing him home."

The hero smiled gratefully at the ruler. "It was nothing, your majesty."

"Yeah, it's good to be home, your  _grace_ ," the man jabbed, snidely smirking at the younger prince.

Marcassin rolled his eyes at that. "You  _know_  what to call me. Such formalities are unnecessary to equals such as yourselves." He cast a slightly disapproving look at his brother's tone. "Especially my  _elder_  brother disguised as a vagrant."

"What," Swaine exclaimed. "For your highness's information, I  _am_  a nomad, thank you! That's all I ever have been."

Another eye roll. He turned to the man once more. "My brother, you are still!" He took the man's hands in his. He squeezed once.  _I love you, Gascon._  Was what he meant by this action… It was something he had remembered his older brother doing when they were alone as children. "It doesn't matter what you call yourself, you cannot change your own blood." He squeezed his hands again.  _You and your secrets are safe with me._

"I'm just here to humor you, you know…," he dodged.

There was a chuckle. "Even so, you came back just in time to ring in the new year!" He leaned forward with a proud and delighted grin. "And so I welcome you home, Gascon- aid to the hero of the world." He squeezed a third time. "And dear brother."

"All I did was help. Oliver's the true hero," he fussed, looking over at the boy in question. "As great a thief as I am I don't deserve much praise."

Oliver shook his head. "I couldn't have done it without any of you," he corrected.

The sage sighed. "You, at the least, deserve the praise of surviving- living to see this day- and accomplishing all that you have! Just…" He started handing out food again. "Take it, will you, Gascon?"

The man looked down at his hands. "So… What does this mean, then?"

"What do you believe it means," the boy chimed in with a concerned look at Swaine.

Swaine sighed and looked up. "Please don't make me say it… It's a cliché."

The two stared at him expectantly.

"You're really going to do this, huh?" He sighed and shook his head with a wry smile. "'I'll always have a place here, won't I?' Happy?" He crossed his arms and leaned towards both of them. "Well, here's a bargain I want to make on that: if I'm always welcomed to come back here- as a prince and all according to you," he began to stipulate, gesturing to Marcassin. "Then Oliver is welcome to come here whenever he's feeling down on his luck, too!"

The sage scoffed as he passed out another plate of food to another person. "As if that was even a question, Gascon!"

The boy shook his head, raising his hands to stay them. "No, no, no! I can't do that! I- I really shouldn't make you guys worry about me-!"

"Too late, kiddo, you had me worried since the day I joined you on your journey," the thief indicated with a pat on the kid's head. "And since you appeared in Ding Dong Dell looking all cold, miserable, and lonely!"

"Y-you saw that…," Oliver stammered in shock. "I didn't mean to-!"

"Oh, just stop it, Oliver. You're a kid, still, remember? You're allowed to have emotions," the former cad reminded him. "You really did look awful back there!"

"Is that so," the sage queried with a raised eyebrow. He put both hands on his hips and eyed the boy with a raised eyebrow. "Do you not have lodging for the night, then?"

The boy shook his head. "I could… just go home."

"Do you have anyone at home to go home to," Marcassin questioned.

The boy pieced his thoughts together. He shook his head slowly. "No… I don't."

"Then I refuse to allow you to return with no one there to comfort you on this otherwise festive night!" The sage placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "While I do not doubt your strength, you should not be alone in this way." He glanced at his brother. "This offer extends to you as well."

Oliver smiled softly down at the floor. "Thank you, Marcassin."

The sage waved a couple of servants over and had them taken to a guest room. He bid them goodnight and watched as they entered the palace. When Gascon cast him a warm and grateful smile, he returned in kind, acknowledging their gratitude.

As they walked, the boy leaned on the thief drowsily- the day was at its end. They were both slightly exhausted. "Swaine," he yawned. "Sorry for dragging you everywhere, today. I know you didn't ask for it."

"No… It was fun, really," the thief responded. "I liked seeing everyone again."

"Really?" The kid stole a glance at the man. "So did I." They walked a little longer in silence.

"Swaine?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad you're not lonely anymore."

The thief smiled as he adjusted his mandolin, thinking at the dejected face the kid had earlier that day. "Me too, kiddo. Me too."

Finally, the holiday was at an end. The new year would begin the next day along with new beginnings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me way longer than I thought it was going to take to get out. Happy holidays and belated New Year's everyone!
> 
> The song at the beginning may be partially inspired by Hunchback of Notre Dame (the Disney one), the title is... well... it's the song you hear sung every new year and looking at the lyrics it fits this drabble pretty well. The celebration in Al Mamoon is loosely based on Holi which is a Thanksgiving/good vs evil deal. From what I understand it also has some ties to Hinduism, but other people outside of that faith often take part in it. That whole hand squeezing thing is based on a post I saw on Tumblr about a person reminiscing about their dad and how they grew up secure because of it. I thought, "Hey! That's a good idea! Marcassin, despite previous Heartbreak, seems pretty secure. Maybe Gascon did something like that when they were kids." 
> 
> And, by the by, Auld Lang Syne, if you can understand it in whatever form you choose, be it mostly with American/standard English inflections or Scottish dialect, is a beautiful song. I say it fits very well with this game because of the roots it has as well as the meaning behind it. Take a listen, when you get the chance, outside of the holiday season to it. It wasn't until I heard it more clearly at my store that I realized how much it could easily fit into other times of the year.


End file.
